The Vampire Diaries: Something in The Fog, and Wine
by Lucretia Debrev
Summary: Damon is on a hunting trip in Rio when he falls of the boat b/c he's convinced he can see through fog to an island. He ends up there, and meets General Zeroff, an avid hunter. Damon wants to leave after he's rested, but he finds that the General is less inclined to let him leave. He'd rather to play a game. A most dangerous game because Damon's life is the prize for both of them.


**The Vampire Diaries: Something in the Fog and Wine (based off The most Dangerous Game by Richard Connell)**

**(Whitney, Sanger Rainsford, and General Zeroff are all characters created by Richard Connell in his short story ****_The Most Dangerous Game. _****Ginthinju was originally named Ivan, and he was Cossack, from Russia, in the original story. They are not my characters, I did not create them or the plot and this fanfic is based off Richard Connel's story. There are small differences in the story that I created, and I recommend you read the story because it is a very entertaining story. Sorry I took so long in updating. If the translations are wrong, I apologize in advance. J Enjoy! (: )**

"We'll be in Rio soon. You know, past this fog, there is an island the sailors seem to fear? It's called Ship-Trap-Island."

"I don't see _anything_ in this fog."

"Well you wouldn't even if there was no fog. It's miles away from here. Even _you_, with your five hundred year old vampire eyes couldn't see it."

"Why are the sailors so afraid of it—the island?"

"I don't know. But they all seemed skittish today, even the captain himself. I asked them if there were cannibals on the island, but they said even _they_ were afraid to go near Ship Trap….. Well, I'm turning in. We'll be in Rio soon for the hunting I told you about, and I'd like to get some rest."

"Alright."

"Say, Damon?"

"Yes?"

"Are you alright? You seem sort of…well—how do I put this? Depressed."

"I'm fine. Just tired like you. I'll be better company in the morning."

"Well, if you say so. See you in the morning ol' chap."

Damon smiled faintly, but there still wasn't any emotion, just a flicker of what should've been there.

"Goodnight Whitney."

Damon had never turned around. Whitney had leaned against the door to the cabin, and Damon had leaned against the railing, out towards the water and fog.

_"Even _you_ couldn't see through this fog…"_

_"Even _you_ could be a member of the church Damon."_

_Shut up Giuseppe!_

Damon leaned further out, he thought with his five-hundred-year-old eyes, surely he could see past the fog. If he only looked a _little_ harder. He leaned further out, climbed on the railing and holding onto it with one hand, trying to lean even further out to see….

Then, just like that, he began to lose his grip, and even his five-hundred-year-old hands couldn't maintain a grip when the wet, consuming fog made the railing slippery and the air humid. He was falling, and all too quickly he hit the water. It woke him up, in every sense of the word.

Fear and panic consumed him, he called out but realized it was pointless. The current was dragging him farther and farther form the boat, and Whitney, even with his vampire senses, couldn't hear him over the boat's motor and the sea. Damon tried to remain calm and focus on swimming towards land. He was properly fed; it seemed, from the flight. He could still taste the blood in his mouth, despite the water he'd taken in from falling as well.

He focused on swimming. Swimming towards land swimming towards something. If he'd tried to follow the boat, he could've been cut to shreds by the boat's propellers and the whole trip would've been ruined.

_pow_

Damon heard a small sound in the distance, towards his left, and he swam towards it. If there was a gun, then there was someone who shot it, and if there was someone who shot it there must be food and a good stiff drink. Somewhere. He just had to find it first.

He swam for what felt like hours. He focused on that gunshot. He replayed the sound in his head over and over, so many times he wasn't sure what was in his mind or what he'd actually heard. Then his feet scrapped the floor of the sea. The water was up to his neck, but he could stand. He walked forward and he got to dry land. As soon as he did, he collapsed.

* * *

><p>All he felt was fatigue and hunger. He'd need something to eat…after he—<p>

He heard a heartbeat. A human heartbeat. Then he heard the rack of a gun. He looked up. A large, dark man was standing above him. The man looked huge, huger than Damon in stature, and he if he wanted to, he could easily kill Damon.

The large man pulled him up by his shirt collar, but didn't say anything.

"I'm…I'm…"

Damon tried to remember the alias Whitney had given him. Rainsford…Rainsford something from New York. Who? Who? It was an odd name, a very odd name, started with an s.

_Sanger! That's it! I'm Sanger Rainsford from New York!_

"I'm Sanger Rainsford. I'm from New York. I fell off my boat. It was headed for Rio."

The large man merely looked at him.

"Sanger. Rainsford. Of New York. I fell off my boat. I swam here. I am very hungry."

Damon had met the man's eyes until he'd caught himself say the word 'hungry', then his eyes had gone down to the man's wide, dark neck.

Damon's eyes saw someone else's eyes peering at him from the bushes. Damon looked at them.

"Please."

Damon looked back at the dark man who was suddenly in a soldier's stance, feet together, one hand in salute, gun held stiffly, but not at Damon himself.

"Well, what a pleasure it is to have a famous hunter on my island, Mr. Rainsford. I've read your books about hunting in Zimbabwe—the leopards you hunted. I'm sure that was an amazing hunt. Won't you join me for diner?"

Damon blinked at him.

_No, I'll just stay out here in the jungle. I told you I was hungry, what do you think I'm going to say? Yes I'll join you for supper._

"Yes of course."

"Well then. Shall we," the man said motioning towards the jungle.

In the darkness Damon smiled. Whitney had given him a dead man's alias as a famous hunter. In fact, the name Rainsford did seem familiar to him. Yes, he'd heard the name before. But if he got his facts wrong, would this man throw him out of his house and claim he was an imposter?

"I'm General Zeroff, by the way."

"It's nice to meet you, Zeroff."

It was an odd name. He felt he'd heard it before. But where?

As they walked, he focused his thoughts on food and a warm bed. Maybe even a hot shower, although he thought he could hold off on that—he wasn't too keen to be reacquainted with water.

* * *

><p>General Zeroff had told him the large, dark man's name was Githinju, and he was from Africa. Zeroff never said where he was from. Githinju had led him to a guest bedroom with an suite laid out for diner. It was an old custom, it seemed. But when Damon had looked in the wardrobe, all he saw was something to wear to bed, and camouflage clothes and combat boots.<p>

As they ate what tasted like chicken, and drank fine, red wine, Damon and Zeroff simply looked at each other.

"Do you hunt often?"

"Um, well, what do you think," Damon smiled, he hoped it was disarming, but it had taken him quite some time to cozy up to Meredith, and Caroline in Mystic Falls.

"I think you're someone else entirely. Sanger Rainsford died. A long time ago. A famous hunter, yes, and, as a matter of fact, he felt of his yacht one night, on the way to Rio, like you as luck would have it, and drowned."

"No, I don't think I drowned."

"I would drop the act, sir, if I were you. Your accent…it's a clever show, but you are not American."

"Oh? Then what am I?"

"You, my friend, are Italian."

Damon was surprised Zeroff had figured out. He was also surprised he'd been too tired to put up a good show.

"How'd you guess?"

"The way you drink, the way you sit, the way you _talk_. It's there. You are Italian—born and reared."

Damon nodded in mutual respect.

"You like hunting, do you," Damon asked as he eyed the walls around him. They were mounted with all kinds of animals from India, and Africa. It was quite a feat for Damon had counted twenty five stuffed animals in the dining room alone. And he'd only walked from the entrance of Zeroff's home, down the hall, and into the dining room. Damon felt confident there were more.

"Yes. Yes, I do. You?"

"Yes indeed. I wasn't lying earlier when I told you I was on my way to Rio to hunt. I hunt from time to time, but not nearly as often as you. You've got quite a few prizes here. Leopards, lions, cheetahs, and elephant tusks."

"Yes. Got that one down in one shot, oh, maybe ten years ago."

"Ah. Ten you say? You realize that's poaching, don't you?"

"Well, I'm amongst friends aren't I? Why not enjoy the fruits of my labor."

"Why not," Damon smiled and took another bite of his food.

Damon tried, in the smallest way, to compel Zeroff.

_That lion is really a bear._

It seemed to work slightly. As Zeroff chewed his food, he looked at the bust of the lion.

_Hum. That's odd. I haven't had any blood. I shouldn't be able to compel him. At all._

Damon lifted his glass of wine and moved it around. The tent of the wine looked…slightly…darker than wine was supposed to be. But then again it was in a golden cup. The potency of the smell increased. It was strong it almost _hurt_ to go down his throat. Damon smelled the wine. It didn't smell the way wine was supposed to either. He set it down, and realized Zeroff was staring at him attentively. Damon cleared his throat, it was disconcerting—not knowing he was being watched, not being able to do much about it.

"Don't you want to know the name of the man drinking your wine and eating your food?"

"Yes. What's your name?"

"Damon."

"That's an interesting name. And your last?"

_What harm could there be in telling him my last name? He sure as hell won't believe an Italian's last name is Smith. Besides, Zeroff is living like a hermit with Githinju, he probably won't speak to anyone._

"Ah. Two interesting names. 'Damon' means 'to subdue, tame' and sometimes…'to kill'. And then, of course, there is the Greek myth of Damon and Pythias. Damon was willing to sacrifice himself for his friend Pythias when he was put to death. Damon took his place while King Dionysus I let Pythias get his affairs in order."

"Yes, I know the story. I've always loved the study of the Roman era. The day comes when Pythias is supposed to come back to be killed, and he does not show up. Just as the executioner is about to kill him, Pythias shows up and explains that his boat was attacked by pirates and he fell overboard, and swam to shore, and that's why it took him days to get Damon."

"Ironic, isn't it? Pythias fell of a boat, Sanger Rainsford fell off a boat, and now you have. One did not exist, the other is dead, and then there is you—very much alive."

The man had a small, cold smile on his face that Damon found unsettling. His lips were a dark red, and his teeth were _all_ canine-like, as if they'd been sharpened or filed that way.

"Um, yes, so it seems."

"And your last name, Salvatore, means—"

"Savior, in Italian, yes. How many years have you been hunting?"

"Oh, the better part of thirty years, but it feels more like…well, this may sound silly, but it feels more like a century."

"No, it doesn't sound silly at all."

"Do you like the wine—and the food? Githinju and I live far from cultivated society, but we try to preserve it's customs."

"Oh it's…it's all very good. Very good indeed_. Molto buona_."

"Where are you from—where in Italy?"

"Oh, Florence."

"Ah, what an amazing city."

"Yes. Very fine. That rhino over there, was it hard to kill," Damon motioned to the head to the right of him with his fork.

"Oh yes. He slammed me against a tree and I broke quite a few ribs but I got the damn thing in the end."

"I always thought they were some of the most dangerous game you could hunt in Africa, I'm sure it was worth it to hunt it and mount it here."

"Oh, it's not, I assure you."

"Oh? Is there game here on the island? I mean, have you imported animals here for sport? Like tigers or—"

Zeroff's red lips spread across his face, revealing his white, sharp teeth.

"What is it?"

"There's no danger in hunting tigers."

Damon laughed incredulously, "Zeroff, I may be Italian but I _know_ there _is_ danger in hunting tigers."

"Oh no. There's no thrill in it either. No danger and no thrill. No, I've quite hunting them altogether. You'll see what I mean when we go hunting tomorrow."

"Oh, thank you, General, I'd love to."

_I'd love to _get some rest._ This wine and food is making me sleepy._

Zeroff nodded and smiled, pleased.

"You see, Damon, I've invented a whole new realm of hunting—a new _thrill_. A new form of _game_."

"Have you?"

"Yes. More wine? Or would you rather have bourbon?"

"Wine's fine. Please continue."

Zeroff poured him more wine.

"You see, the challenge, the danger, is not on the same plain if you and I were fighting an animal, don't you agree?"

"Yes. Animals lack the capacity to reason, and that's what separates us from then."

"Yes indeed. I was born to be a hunter. When I was a boy, maybe, six, I shot my first deer. When I was ten I shot my first bear. My father once said my hand was made for the gun and my mind was made for the hunt. I have an analytical mind—I like to predict the prey's next move, that is why I enjoy the chase."

"I'm sure it is, Zeroff."

"Well anyways, over the years, I became bored with hunting. I began to ask myself why that was, why the fun had gone out of it, and….can you guess my answer?"

Damon leaned back in his chair, took another sip of wine, and said, "Because it was too easy for you. The challenge was gone, ergo the fun was too."

"Yes. I always got my game. Always—and there is no greater bore than faultlessness—that is why Adam and Eve picked the forbidden fruit. Because they were tired of perfection. They were bored with what God gave them. So, just like Adam and Eve, I was bored with what God gave _me_: the confines of hunting the quarry. In particular, the quarry _I wanted_ to hunt."

Zeroff paused and lit a cigarette, "Oh, excuse me, would you like one?"

"Why not?"

Damon lit the cigarette and Zeroff continued, "When I realized all the animal had was it's instincts and the ability to outrun my bullet—or at least to try—I felt I'd lost something. You know, like one loses his innocence once he becomes a man. So when it came down it to it…I needed to invent a new animal. And I did."

Damon laughed, uncontrollably, "Zeroff, what are you saying? You are not God, you cannot just invent a new animal."

"But I have. It can reason, it has courage, wit, everything lions and rhino's lack."

"But…," Damon furrowed his brow, "but sir, animals _can't_ reason."

"Are _we_ not animals, sir? We are a form of it, science and history can attest to that."

"General Zeroff, what _exactly_ are you saying?"

Damon put down his cigarette, pushed his food aside, and glanced warily at his wine. He should've known there was something in the wine.

"Mr. Salvatore—Damon—the animal I have invented to hunt is in this room."

"Where? Which one? You've hunted all of these on the walls, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"Then what new animal?"

He hoped he was wrong. He didn't wanted to be proven right. Maybe it was all some sick joke. Maybe General Zeroff wasn't hunting what Damon thought he was.

_Oh Caro Dio , per favore no ._

**_[Oh Dear God, no.]_**

The room had begun to spin. He'd had too much wine. Maybe it was the cigarette, maybe it was too much to handle with the wine, maybe that was all…

"You. You, Damon Salvatore, are my prey. _My_ new _animal,_" he said giddily.

"General…please…what you're doing, your hunting…it's no longer a sport it's—it's murder. You can't be serious."

"Oh but I am. The world belongs to the strong, the people who can conquer it. The weak and poor are serfs and game. They were created to be ruled and killed...Out of curiosity, what do you think you've been _drinking_? What do you think you've been _eating?_"

He laughed.

Damon went numb. He still had what he'd thought was chicken stuck between his teeth. He felt sick. And if there something in wine...

"And you see, sir, I know what you are, as well."

"What I am?"

"Right now I'm sure you are very tired, very confused. That'd be the vervain in your wine. And the cyanide."

_"Vervain and cyanide?!"_

"Yes. I tempered it with blood so you wouldn't notice it. But the cigarette has vervain with the nicotine. That's probably why you're feeling lightheaded right now."

_"È serpente . Tu sei pazzo."_

**_[You snake. You are insane.]_**

"You'll see when we hunt tomorrow-I'm just ahead of my time."

_"Had we not silenced your beliefs, you would've been beheaded..."_

Damon's eyes grew wide. His head hit the table with a dull thud. Zeroff got up and put his head to Damon's, "Oh no. You can't collapse on me. You know, you're the first vampire I've ever hunted? You are a truly new creature indeed."

Damon tried to mutter some sort of insult, but he wasn't even sure what he was trying to say.

"I also took a chance with adding some sedative—but don't worry, you won't pass out. Not if your strong. If you're not, I'll simply throw you to the dogs. Italians aren't particularly strong, or smart either. As a vampire, I'm hoping you'll surpass my expectations."

Zeroff waited for a moment, as if he expected some response, then he slapped him lightly, and called Githinju.

"Githinju, put his arm over your shoulder. I want to take him to my trophy room so he can see my accomplishments."

"Yees sirr," he said with a thick accent.

Githinju put Damon's arm around his neck, just barely, and dragged him out of the dining room like a sack of flour, Damon's feet scraped the floor as he was dragged down a dark hall to an even darker room.

With the flick of a switch, Damon felt like screaming, but he couldn't speak.

Zeroff smiled proudly, hands on hips, and looked back at Damon and his smile faded, "What? Isn't it a magnificent feat?"

Damon shook his head.

_He's going to uccidimi. No one will ever find me. Not Whitney, not Stefan. No one will ever find me…_

The whites of their eyes, that was another thing that scared him. The eyes seemed glazed over, but real. The heads did too…if only they'd had the rest of their bodies.

"I made a deal with the neighboring town. They send convicts to my island, and when they don't, I crash ships and the survivors I hunt, kill, and then stuff. I only stuff the heads of course, but you being a vampire, I might just have to keep all of you. The dogs can have the next sailor that comes along. Hum. Githinju, will you take Mr. Salvatore to his room and put him in his night clothes. In the morning he can dress and undress himself but right now I think he's a little too tired for that."

Their eyes, spinning round, were the last thing he saw before everything faded to black.

* * *

><p>Once Githinju was out of the room Damon slowly got up from his bed even though all he wanted to do was sleep. He went to the window. He was at least three stories up. He stuck his head out of the window and saw German shepherds below him. When they saw him they began to jump and snap at the air, daring him to jump and make their day. Damon laid back down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.<p>

"Oue , qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum."

* * *

><p>Damon woke up the next morning feeling sluggish and tired, like a rag doll. His limbs wouldn't move. He wanted to go back to sleep but he couldn't. He tried to convince himself he was in Rio with Whitney, and this was his hotel room, but when he heard the German Shepherds below, he knew where he was, he knew the horrible things he heard and seen the night before were from no nightmare. He could still the see the human heads mounted on the walls, could still see the glazed eyes. He could still taste the diner and wine.<p>

When he opened the wardrobe, his old clothes were gone. All he had was what General Zeroff had had set out for him. At first he struggled to remember how he'd gotten into the clothes he'd worn to bed, and then with a shiver that crept down his spine, he remembered Githinju staring over him with his dead eyes. Dressing him like he was a doll.

_You want a fight, Zeroff? You'll get one. By the time this is over, you'll be dead._

"Do the boots and clothes fit? Everything is to your satisfaction?"

Damon gritted his teeth, "Considering you are going to try to kill me, no, everything is not to my satisfaction."

General Zeroff didn't seem to hear what'd he'd said.

"The boots are a little snug but they'll do."

"Oh I'm sorry to hear that."

"What if...what if I refuse to hunt. What if I refuse to indulge you? What will you do?"

"Oh, you can choose not to fight, but people always do. You see, I bought Githinju from a cannibalistic tribe. I taught him English, payed him quite well. He's content to be civilized, and be civilized with me. But he certainly become _un_civilized, return to those cannibalistic instincts, if I wanted him to. Like I said, in the end, they always choose the hunt. One year a man nearly won and i had to use the dogs. They're the one's you saw under your window last night. There are more though. More that roam the island at night-just incase someone wants to get off or onto my island."

"Well you give me a head start? I don't know the island like you, and if you're such a good hunter you'll find me no matter where I go, so you may as well give me a head start," Damon glared up at the sun and began to jog in place.

"My dear, fellow," Zeroff laughed, "I merely brought you out here to show you what the place looks like in the day time. Oh no, no. We don't hunt during the day, we do it at night. If you can survive the night and make into the day, then the hunt will be continued, but right now, we need to build up our strength. eat good food and drink."

"You mean eat people and drink blood. That won't help me," the latter would have helped him actually, but he didn't want to admit he was _anything_ like Zeroff.

"As you wish. Would you like some fruit and water then?"

"Yes."

"Alright. Come inside then. Oh and one more thing-I suggest you avoid the the swamp, we call it Death Swamp here."

"I'll take that into consideration."

* * *

><p>He used his vampire speed to get as far away as he could, but that only worked until he tripped over a root. When he looked behind him Zeroff was not far behind him.<p>

"Come?"

**["How?"]**

Damon as fast as he could, clutching the hunting knife he'd been given in his right hand. It felt odd in his hand, and too heavy.

He must have been cut through the bushes and vines for hours. But at least he could see in the dark. That, and his speed, were distinct advantages Zeroff didn't have.

_Stay calm. You can't lose your nerve, stay cool. Death comes quickly to someone who let's fear consume them._

He realized with the root he was taking, he'd end up at the sea, and that wouldn't do him any good. He also realized he was leaving tracks, or rather, a straight line, considering he was moving too quickly for tracks. He did his best to cover his trail once he got his bearings. When the gates that encompassed General Zeroff's property had closed behind him, he'd simply starting running to get as far away from Zeroff as possible, now that he was farther away, he tried to form a plan.

The moon was behind the clouds. Damons stopped running and leaned against a tree. He put his hands on his knees and panted. Then he stopped breathing. A twig snapped behind him and he climbed up the tree. He tried to take in and brethe out as little air as possible in order to remain quiet. It hurt. His lungs felt like they were on fire and his eyes began to water. He heard Zeroff come closer and stop, then edge closer slowly. Damon considered quite literally getting the jump on him, but he was tired, he needed time to catch his breath, and furthermore Zeroff had a gun, so he stayed where he was, sweat dripping down his face. He looked up from the limb he was in. He froze. Not only was Zeroff beginning to look up where Damon was hidden, he also felt something crawling on his back.

_Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! I didn't know there were spiders this big! And. It's. On. Your. Neck. Don't move don't move don't move don't make a sound don't move don't make a sound don't move don't make a sound don't move..._

He didn't move, but the spider did, it moved from his neck, down his back and Damon resisted the urge to scream and shake it off.

"Good, now you go find him."

Zeroff's dog went the other way and Zeroff followed him. Damon wondered if maybe Zeroff hadn't known he was in the tree, if his breathing had been louder than he'd thought. A shiver ran down his spine when he thought about that large smile with blood red lips and sharpened teeth in the darkness.

Once he thought Zeroff was faraway was far enough away from him he shook the spider off him. Once it was on the ground Damon placed his hand next to it. His eyes widened.

_It's the size of my hand!_

He decided he'd tell Caroline about that, she'd get squeamish at the thought of it and he'd laugh, never admitting he hated spiders.

Walked awhile and climbed in a tree, got as comfortable as he could, and tried to sleep. He'd woven a trail to complicate things, It was more like a maze going around in circles so that he would have some time to sleep before moving again. The idea of having sleep sounded comforting. But he didn't sleep. He couldn't.

* * *

><p><em>The last words I said to my brother was 'go to hell'. Brother of half the century, Damon. Great job. Way to go...<em>

The dogs weren't far behind him, from the barking he heard in the distance. He jumped out of the tree and started sprinting towards...

_Where are you going? There's got to be a destination, otherwise you may as well let the dogs catch you now. There's no point in running if you don't have _somewhere_ to go._

He tripped and landed face down-in black mud.

_The marshes. The dogs won't be able to get through the marshes._

Damon began to wonder why Zeroff had told him about the dangers of the marsh in the first place. Had he anticipated what Damon was going to do? Had others tried the exact same tactic and failed-_died_? He'd never felt so manipulated, humiliated, and vulnerable since his father first gave him a black eye when he was twelve. But no, this was worse. Giuseppe had not known what he was doing, he had not intended to make Damon feel that way. Zeroff did. Zeroff had intended to play cat and mouse for as long as he could. He'd let Damon live when he could've have shot him in the tree, and he'd probably let him lead his own dogs into the marsh.

But he had to try something. Even if it killed him. Besides, he was a vampire, and vampires could come back to life. He just wasn't sure he'd want to if he did.

He took a huge breath and charged towards the marsh. His were stuck. Damon panicked. He tried to wrench them free. Once he did, he doubled back. The dogs were right behind him, but he didn't care. He decided to throw them in the marsh and hope they'd drown in the mud.

One of them bit his left leg while he picked up another one and chucked it into the marsh. He listened to it cry and began to laugh.

"That's right you little bitch, drown! Drown!"

Then he went for the one that was still clinging to his leg and snapped its neck, even though it still maintained its grip on his leg once it was dead. He bent down to wrench the dog's jaws gree from his leg and another jumped on his back. It clawed at his back and bit his ear. The warm, familiar, metallic-smelling liquid dripped down the side of his neck. He stood up abruptly and threw the dog off him and it hit a tree. Three down, two to go. The one that had hit the tree was getting up slowly. Another was bowing up, all it's hair's standing up, about to pounce.

It lunged at him and snarled in face. He held back my the throat but let go when the other dog bit his left leg. Once the dog that was on top of him was free, he bit into Damon's shoulder. Damon hit it in the stomach with his right leg and threw it on top of the other dog. They both snarled at each other. Damon watched them fight each other. He looked about him.

General Zeroff was nowhere to be found.

Out of the corner of his eye, Damon saw a small, black, circular object move from a knot in the dead tree closest to him.

_He's watching me. He's got a camera...he knew I'd do this. Ha. He's the cat and I'm the mouse. He's the pope and I'm the church goer._

Damon picked up a rock and hit one of the dogs in head repeatedly. The blood got on his neck and face but he hardly cared. The other dog backed off for a moment, as if it were confused as to why he'd helped it win the fight against the other german shepherd. Damon charged at it and snapped his neck.

_I'm not going to be used like this. I'll die before I go through this again. Just like the clergy men deciding to shut me up, just like father trying to convince Stefan I was the danger instead of his own drunken anger and grief._

Damon grabbed the dog and slit his throat with his hunting knife and drank its blood.

_If Stefan can do it, so can I. But I'm not just doing this to keep up my strength._

The dead tree was white, and he decided he'd send a message to.

"'Go to Hell. I'm not your reality show.' -D.S."

He then broke the camera and walked away.

* * *

><p>Damon gasped. There were MORE dogs!<p>

He ran. They were too close. Far too close. And they were louder this time-which meant there were more, and they were angry.

He didn't know or care where he was running. He'd killed five dogs. His vampire speed was gone. He didn't even have normal human speed because of the limp he had in his left leg.

He heard General Zeroff humming the tune to a song he'd heard before...

_Tonight You Belong To Me By Patience Prudence._

_"My I honey i know that you will be gone, but tonight you belong to me..."_

_It sounds creepy when he's the one humming it. Oh Dio , ha intenzione di uccidermi ._

**_[Oh God he's going to kill me.]_**

He ran as fast as he could and panted, "Come on, come on. Faster, faster!"

He willed himself to run faster. He wiped his brow and blood was smeared on his hands.

_Am I sweating blood?! How is that even possible?!_

He came out to open ground. He could smell the ocean, and he stopped himself just in time before falling twenty feet into the ocean.

The dogs were behind him. Zeroff had a gun and he'd kill him. Sure, Damon could come back from that, but Zeroff wouldn't let him. He'd behead him and mount his head on the wall of his study and throw the rest of him to the dogs-

_And I've got too much going for me to die._

"Here goes nothing!"

He took a big breath and jumped.

* * *

><p>"Well, Ginthinju, it looks like Damon Salvatore got away. Oh well. It's a shame. He was such good quarry. More wine?"<p>

"Yes, thank you."

"Well, I suppose I'll turn in."

"Yes sir. Have a good night."

"You too."

General Zeroff walked into his own bedroom, turned on the light and looked down at the hounds barking below.

"Another night my pets! Another night you'll be well fed-Damon!"

General Zeroff seemed slightly put off, but his tone suggested other wise, it was as if he were greeting an old friend.

"How the devil did you get in here?"

"I swam."

Damon began to walk towards Zeroff with a cold determination in his eyes. Zeroff was looking towards the door and back at Damon.

"I wouldn't look for Githinju for help. I put cyanide in the wine. That'd be the reason you're feeling light headed," he said sarcastically.

"Congratulations Damon, you've won the game!"

"Oh no. The game's not over General Zeroff. I'm still a beast in need of a cage, a head still in need of beheading."

"Ah I see. So one of us will die, have there head decapitated and mounted on the wall of my study, and the other will sleep in my nice warm bed, that it?"

"Yes."

"Well, then, on guard! And may the best hunter win!"

* * *

><p>"How was your trip?"<p>

"How was yours?"

"It was fine. I bought a great deal of wine to put in the cellar, Meredith, Caroline, and Bonnie had a great time-brought back a lot pictures. It's _a shame_ they won't care to show them to you."

Damon shrugged.

"Maybe you can tell them about _your_ trip. I'm sure they'd love to hear what Rio's like."

"Nah. The trip was boring. I didn't go hunting. i simply stayed in bed all day drinking bourbon."

"Oh Damon! Your back!"

Bonnie McCullough wrapped her arms around his neck, but quickly pulled away.

"It's nice to see you too?" Damon looked at him questioningly. Sadly, she wasn't as forth-coming with him.

_"I _un_compelled them and showed them your drawing of that Florentine girl-Analisa."_

_Why?_

_"Because you were once a talented artist...and I wanted to know what you told them."_

_Stefan..._

_("You are my prey, Damon.")_

_I'm sorry for the things I said._

_"So am I. What's wrong? You seem nervous."_

_I'm not. in fact, I feel better now than I did in...Rio._

_"I'm glad to here it."_

_Yeah. It's nice to be back..._

Stefan left Damon's mind when Matt came in and asked him to help him carry some of the bags into Mrs. Flower's boarding house.

Everything felt surreal to Damon. He was happy to be around people again. Nice people. People he felt the need to protect.

Matt held a bag over his shoulder and he winced at the thought of having it over his shoulder, which was still sore. He'd decided to let all of Zeroff's other 'quarry' go and not feed on them. He'd telephoned to Whitney and told him he'd purposely jumped out the boat to go swimming. And then he'd gone home. He still hadn't had anything except the dog's blood in the day it had taken him to get home. He still had a limp. A

Matt set down the bag and asked half heartedly, "Are you ok? You look pale-er-paler."

Damon's knees buckled under him and Matt caught him.

"Stefan! Stefan get in here!"

"What? What is-Damon? What's wrong?"

Damon pushed Matt away gently and limped towards a chair.

"Nothing. I, uh," he laughed, oh how to explain the previous three days on Ship Trap Island, "Someone invited me to play a game with them and it, uh, got a little out of hand. Hurt my shoulder and my leg. I'll be fine."

"Hello? Anyone want hot chocolate."

"No thank you, Mrs. Flowers."

"I'll take a cup," Damon said, leaning forward slowly. His shoulder still hurting.

Everyone stared at him as if he'd just said he wanted to go to Build A Bear.

"I guess I'll take one too," Bonnie said. She took the cup from Ms. Flowers and handed it to him.

"What game were you playing," Matt asked.

"There wasn't a name for it," Damon waved his hand dismissively, "Nevermind. It's a long story. How was your trip?"

"Mr. Honeycutt would you like a cup?"

Matt blushed, he didn't like his last name. Damon found it hilarious.

"Sure."

"I heard you all went on fun trips? How were they?"

"Ours was good," Matt said.

"How was your trip, Damon? I'm sorry, I couldn't help but overhear-"

Everyone looked back and forth from him to Mrs. Flowers. He usually didn't let very many people call him by his last name, but after meeting Zeroff, he'd make sure that he only introduced himself to people he _really_ wanted to befriend.

"it was fine. I went to Rio. It was...an adventure."

"Rio you say? My husband went to Rio one year-hunting. He always liked hunting."

Damon squirmed in his seat with a sudden burst of nervous energy, "What-what was his name? It didn't happen to be Sanger, did it?"

"Why yes! Sanger! Sanger Rainsford! How on earth did you know?"

"Lucky guess, I guess. Um, Mrs. Flowers...did your husband...did he come back from Rio?"

"Yes, yes he did. He always seemed troubled after the trip. I never could figure out why. He said he fell of his yacht when he was with his friend-oh what was his name?-ah, Whitney."

"Whitney," Damon asked, confused.

"Yes. Another avid hunter. I never liked hunting."

"No, no I don't either. Ma'am, how'd he get away? How'd he get off the-"

Damon stopped and looked around him nervously. Up until that moment he'd been entirely focused on Mrs. Flowers. He'd also moved closer to Bonnie, but he wasn't sure why.

"I mean...can I talk to your husband, please?"

"Oh, well let me explain um...let me take this tray down stairs-"

Damon used all the speed he had left in him to take the tray from Mrs. Flowers, go down stairs, and call to her.

"Yes, I'll be right down."

"Mrs. Flowers, I'm so sorry. He didn't know-I never told him your husband-"

"Shush, Mr. Salvatore. It'll be nice to talk about him again for a change. I don't know how your brother knows about him, but I intend to find out."

And with that, she walked out of the room, shut the door behind her, and headed down stairs.

"So...did you know my Sanger?"

"No ma'am. But I met a man that knew him. He told me Sanger drowned before he got to Rio."

"He most certainly did not. He came back with a few bruises and...show me your leg."

"What?"

"Your left leg, Mr. Salvatore."

Damon reluctantly showed her his leg.

"I'll bandage that up-and your shoulder."

"Thank you. Mrs. Flowers-er-Mrs. _Rainsford_, I don't mean to pry but...how did your husband die?"

"He died of old age. 90 years old. His last words to me were 'don't be sad, Theophila, we'll see each other soon'. Why did he come back with bruises, Mr. Salvatore? Do you-do you happen to know why?"

"Yes. It's a long story though."

"Well we've got all the time in the world."

"Can we...can we go somewhere else to talk about it."

"Why?"

"Because it's one of those stories that frightens people, and I don't want my brother or Bonnie to hear it. I don't want anyone to hear it-just you. I'd rather not tell anyone but...you've got a right to."

"Well then...where do you propose we go?"

"Where ever you want to then. I don't care."

* * *

><p>"And then I came back here."<p>

"Zeroff? That was the man's name?"

"Yes. I think he was Russian but the accent wasn't very noticeable if he was."

"My husband mentioned that name. He said if that name was ever mentioned, I was to open a letter he wrote. It's back at the boarding house."

* * *

><p>They watched Damon and Mrs. Flowers rush up stairs-past them.<p>

"It's right up there. Can you climb up the ladder?"

"Yes-ow-it still hurts. Are you sure those herbs of yours-"

"Of course I'm sure! There should be a be of old letters-"

"I've got it!"

"Good! Can you come back down?"

None of them heard anything for a moment.

"Damon Salvatore if you are reading that letter when it belongs to me-"

"No I'm not reading it Theophilia!_ Tenere i vostri cavalli..."_

**["Hold your horses"]**

"What did you just say _giovane mann_?"

**["Young man"]**

"Nothing, nothing at all, but, uh..."

"But what?"

"You'll have to come up. I can't get down in the present state I'm in."

"Yes, yes of course."

They were all at a loss as to how Damon Salvatore and Mrs. Flowers had become such fast friends, and Stefan was especially puzzled as to how Mrs. Flowers could speak Italian.

_The only way she would speak Italian if she didn't learn the language herself would be if...Damon let her inside his head. Let her have access to everything he ever said in Italian so she could grasp what he was saying...why would he do that? Damon would never...would he?_

He strained to hear what they were saying but they must have been whispering because he couldn't hear them from the attic.

"What do you suppose Damon wants with Mrs. Flowers," Bonnie asked curiously, "What letter is she talking about, Stefan?"

They were all looking at him for an answer.

"I have no idea. But whatever it is...it's not our place to intrude."

"But don't you want to know-"

"No, Caroline, I don't. Something changed him while he was away on that trip-and for the better. I don't want to know."

* * *

><p>"Do you know what this means?"<p>

"Yes...this means my husband was a murderer," Mrs. Flowers said solemnly.

"No. no, Mrs. Flowers. Your husband was not a murderer, Zeroff was. No, what this means is...," Damon sighed and looked out the attic window.

"This means General Zeroff is a vampire."


End file.
